


Black Flood

by PrimarchOmegon



Series: Blood Moon [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Character of Faith, Desperation, Eldritch, Emotional, Gen, Loss of Control, Loss of Faith, Loss of Trust, Lovecraftian, Lovecraftian Monster(s), Madness, Religious Conflict, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Spiritual, sorta cryptic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 20:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20784458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimarchOmegon/pseuds/PrimarchOmegon
Summary: Part of a random collection of scenes I wrote (and that may or may not be linked) when I was in a mood and the Outer Gods started a conversation with me.Making a summary would defy the purpose, so enjoy!





	Black Flood

It had been weeks since she had last seen the light. Months of blackness, illuminated only by the stained light of the blood moon. There was no one coming to help them. She knew that. She had seen it, felt it. They had all fallen ill before her eyes, families had been wiped out by this plague one after another. The houses around hers were empty and abandoned, harboring only death and sickness. The rats came by every hours or so now, claiming the streets and structures outside the outer wall for themselves. A black flood of claws, eyes and teeth.  
Hungry.  
There was nothing more to eat, the farmlands had been overrun first and, like many others, she had fled into the city with them. This glorious city, with all its Victorian spires, all its tall and richly decorated buildings, all the gardens and market places…  
It was all worthless now, destined to decay and crumble, towering over them as a memorial of the ever persistent death that would come for them. Slowly, but steadily.  
It had been months since Illysandra had heard someone speak to her on the way to the church. Rations had grown shorter and even the holy blood had been given out fewer and fewer each week.  
“Next.” The line moved sluggishly, despite the fact that the priests mechanically went through the motions of awarding them the bare minimum to ensure they’d survive a little longer.  
“Next.” She couldn’t see their faces, nor could anyone else. They hid it away, but their voices were slick and smooth, charming, almost. As if they had not been bothered or touched by the plague at all. As if it didn’t bother them to see these citizens so mangled and scarred, so broken and desperate. As if they weren’t even aware of this state.

  
“Next.” When Illysandra came closer, she could already see their helmets and faceplates that were of a sickeningly pure ivory.  
Untouched. Noble.  
Perhaps there was salvation, if one managed to become one of them. Perhaps there was a way out, if you’d fully devote yourself to this god. Perhaps this was something she could obtain one day, had she only been a better person. They looked so healthy…  
“Next.” The faceless mask lingered on her for a moment and the single, crescent eye in the middle wept for her when the priest briefly turned his head towards her before going back to his duties. She didn’t understand the tear drops. Back when she had been a child, she had seen this shape in the form of amulets around their necks or as symbols on the walls. But never had the teardrops under the eye been red before. At least not as far as she could remember it, but remembering how things had been before the rats had come was difficult.

  
“Next.” The three opened eyes of the church guards’ masks watched her step forward to receive her blessings. It was but a moment, a coincidental movement when she was handed her rations and the little vials of holy blood that her hands brushed against the priest’s gloved fingers. Though she was sure to never forget the overwhelming dread she felt from that alone, the sensation of something so vile hiding behind that silky voice, this compassionate mask that seemed to weep for everyone.  
“What is it you fear, my child?” Her gaze snapped towards the crescent eye once more, startled by the priest’s sudden inquiry. Usually, they did not talk to anyone besides during church sermons and confessions.  
“The rot, father.”, Illysandra answered without hesitation. She had tried to avert her gaze, though that made her even more weary.  
“Ah yes. Have faith, child, god has blessed us with a cure to this illness. There is nothing to be afraid of as long as you stand strong in the face of this trial for humanity.” His words felt like thick threads of saliva, dripping from an enormously elongated tongue. She could hear his resolve, his confidence that he himself had already passed this test. That he was free, had washed himself clean from the dirt and stains of this life.  
“Sometimes, I think it is best to burn it all down, father.”  
“Not while there are still things to be saved. Survival can only persist if you are willing to adapt. No matter how painful it might seem.” He tilted his head a little, as if to look at her more closely despite the mask not having any holes to see through. Perhaps they were all blind, that would make sense. Though the guards could not have been, yet their eyes were merely painted on their helmets.  
“Thank you, father.”

  
“Go inside, child. Join the others.” Illysandra nodded, despite her confusion about what she had just experienced. Her first thought was that they only spoke to her because she had been the last one in line, the last lamb to find its way back into the guarding embrace of the church. It was a pretty sight, the rot had barely withered the golden inscriptions and chiseled messages of faith on its stone skin. Was there truly such a thing as hope, in this wretched place they now had to call their home, this decaying corpse they now had to live in? Was this the only healthy organ that had remained for them to gather around? The heart that still beat?  
“It might be.”, she mumbled, marveling at the large archway and how perfectly symmetrical it was, how much beauty and safety it radiated by just being there. Illysandra hadn’t been capable of feeling peaceful for a long time, it had been taken away from her when the plague had claimed her husband and her children. One by one and so slowly that she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling she was being punished for something. She hadn’t slept well ever since her oldest had finally ceased to breathe one day.  
Her hand found the inner door frame, searching for support for her wavering body and mind. And then she heard it. It was a small sound at first, though it did not slip past her. The seemingly sturdy wood under her palm had cracked open at the touch, riddled with termites and worms.

  
Dread washed over her as she stared, barely able to contain her disgust at this display of desecration, and she ripped her gaze away from it, only to notice the cracks on the inner walls of the mess hall where golden sigils had been broken in two. The rotting pile of what had been a bench in the corner of the cathedral, the carefully stashed away rubble that had fallen from the ceiling…  
No.  
Not here.  
“Please…” Illysandra drew a rattling breath, forcing her eyes down to the beautiful marble floor. The delicate golden grates that allowed hot air to pass into the main hall were polished and shiny, if she’d just keep looking down, then perhaps there was still a chance for her to find peace. The darkness behind the vent looked back at her with a pair of glistening black eyes and black fur and she wanted to scream when the rat slowly climbed out of the grate to look at her. They both glared at each other while the animal mocked her, cleaning its disgusting fur right in front of her, in these holy halls.

  
_There is nothing for you to gain here._  
_Your era has come to a close, daughter of man._  
_ This empire lies in its dying breath, yet there is a pulse to be felt._  
_ It is our pulse, daughter of man._  
_ We shall rebuild it._  
_ And we are nearly finished._

  
There was nothing she could do. Nothing anyone could do. It was already here, it had been here all along. And nothing would ever stop it.  
“What is the matter, my child?” The priest’s voice snapped her back into the here and now and Illysandra realized that he was outside, still waiting for her to enter the cathedral so that they could begin their sermon.  
“I… Have one more question, father.”, she whispered, slowly turning to face the weeping eye.  
“Bear in mind that some questions were never meant to be answered.” Illysandra didn’t wait for him to add something, but instead lunged forward before the guards could even react. Pulling the mask off of his head was accompanied by an almost inhuman shrieking, as if she had just ripped off his face instead and she stared. She stared in shock at the mess of misshapen flesh he tried to shield with his gloved hands, the dozens bulging eyes that threw hateful glances at her and the enlarged, fanged mouth screaming and howling unspeakable horrors in a language she could not understand.  
“Child…”, it growled while the guards closed the doors to the cathedral behind her so that no one would have to bear witness to what she had done.  
“Does the face of god’s creation scare you that much, child?” Illysandra shook her head lightly, barely able to move a muscle while the thing came towards her. The absurdity, the lack of understanding how such a thing had even come to be, what foul cesspool had birthed this creature into existence, almost ripped her mind in two.  
“The time of man is over, child.”, the thing continued patiently with the same smooth voice it had sported before. A human voice, so entirely misplaced inside this horrid display of a body.  
The guards didn’t seem to mind her backing into them, they held her gently and with such a light grip that she could have easily shaken them off, should she choose to do so. However, the overwhelming dread and fear this shambling beast caused was enough to paralyze her.  
“And if you do not adapt to your surroundings, you will die.”

  
The corpses of dozens of rats littered her home. It kept her alive, yet she felt herself die every single day, it made her defiant and confident in her way of survival, yet she had never felt so weak before. Her skin had become coarse and broken, she bled out of eyes and nose profusely by now, but she would survive. Survive the horrors, survive the plague, survive this presence that pushed against her mind, threatening to shatter everything she had built for herself, the world she had perceived to be hers.  
It had been weeks since she had last seen the light. Months of blackness, illuminated only by the stained light of the blood moon. There was no one coming to help her. She knew that. She had seen it, felt it. They had all fallen ill before her eyes, families had been wiped out by this plague one after another. The houses around hers were empty and abandoned, harboring only death and sickness. The rats came by every hours or so now, claiming the streets and structures outside the outer wall for themselves. A black flood of claws, eyes and teeth.  
Hungry.  
No matter how many she ate, she was so very hungry.


End file.
